


Burn The Red

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst and Porn, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forced Masturbation, Light BDSM, Mind Manipulation, Sacrifice, Situational Humiliation, Spanking, Time Skips, Vaginal Fingering, Virginity, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 13:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: "A crash of thunder shook the walls as the wind howled with far less grace than the wolves running miles beneath the moon. You closed your eyes and said a silent prayer, for what you can no longer recall. The only thing capable of rattling the cages of your memory are the words that slipped past the same petal-soft lips that had forsaken you." Akashi agrees to marry you to spare your father's life but it doesn't take long before you realize that he's not interested in offering you any special favors.





	Burn The Red

The events of the past month have gone by in such a blur that you're not entirely convinced they happened at all. You lie in bed, mind flickering back to the first night you found yourself behind the walls of Akashi's estate. Your balance had been thrown askew in more ways than one as you fell to your knees, eyes wide in surprise as you bowed to the boy standing mere feet in front of you.

“I may have come to an agreement with you. However, that does not permit you to look me in the eye. Know your place.”

It was all he said, nothing more; and with that he had left the room, leaving you to stare after him in awe. Furthermore, unbeknownst to you, it was the beginning of a story that would offer no real end.

* * *

The following encounter wasn't unlike your first and it left a strange taste on the back of your tongue—bittersweet inquisition that would stay with you well into the subsequent months.

Akashi mingled with his consorts, his decorum and wisdom of outstanding caliber. He seemed genuine in his behavior but the look behind his gaze was impenetrable, a burning flame hot enough to wither your body to ash with a single glance. It was by casual observation that you noticed this because he never looked directly _at_ you, in fact, he didn't spare you a moment of his time. Instead, he talked of a new regime and the preservation of old rules that sounded like a foreign language to your ears while he presided over each suited man at the table.

The most valuable thing you could take away from the exchange was that Akashi's power was incalculable. That, and the fact that the man didn't need a single weapon to incite fear in those that questioned his military principles. The rest was almost alien to you, offshore and overseas, and trying to parse his intention through speech would have been as useful as giving a baby a dictionary to memorize.

He passed by you with an air of a man built from steel—not a hint of emotion on his face nor a stitch of concern threaded through his genetic makeup—so hollowed out that he seemed almost inhuman. His posture was rigid and his eyes were cold, the color of his vacant orbs as deceiving as the complacent look painted on his face. Everything about him seemed like a lie, a contradiction, a walking depiction of disparity.

A crash of thunder shook the walls as the wind howled with far less grace than the wolves running miles beneath the moon. You closed your eyes and said a silent prayer, for _what_ you can no longer recall. The only thing capable of rattling the cages of your memory are the words that slipped past the same petal-soft lips that had forsaken you.

“You shouldn't fear God. You should fear man.”

It didn't make sense then—_who would assume you feared God when you were regarded in the middle of an invocation to the gods of night?_—but you received his words as a note of circumspection. By the lilt of his tone and the brief moment the hard lines of his face softened, you presumed he meant for you to find comfort in his words. Notwithstanding your confusion, you didn't know how you were supposed to find solace in your current situation. However, as the flowers of time began to decay, things would become painfully clear: Akashi's intentions were never pure. Therefore, you've come to the harsh reality that the words he uttered that evening were only issued to bring to light the same amount of fear he presented to you on your wedding night.

* * *

You find that you're still learning how to kneel at Akashi's feet, still trying to master how to behave in his presence. Both are trying tasks, among many, especially given the fact that subservience was, and still is, a tenuous web drawing thin upon your nature. You curse his name in the night but pretend at obedience when the sun cries morning. He has yet to spend more than several minutes in your company, and when he does, his behavior mirrors the glistening shards of ice that cloak a sea of cold. He's the frost that blankets November and carves through December. He's cruel and callous and yet, there's something that exists within him, something in an occasional flicker of gold that speaks of the finest shreds of sympathy. You realize that you're foolishly clinging to false hope and that you're merely skating around the truth while you allow Akashi to bend and break the innermost corners of your mind—that you're letting him use the simplest of manipulation tactics on you and in doing so, you can feel that the ice is getting thin.

* * *

Two months pass before Akashi brings you recent news of your father. You know that he's been withholding the information from you, and you have to bite your tongue to avoid the blistering edge of his gaze again. The news should bring you relief if anything but you can't help but feel the woes of misfortune creep along the channels of your veins. There's no evidence of fabrication, no latent tokens indicative of unspoken infraction, but it feels unjust all the same. You curl your hands into fists and clench your teeth, cringing at the look of smug amusement that spreads like poisoned honey across your husband's features. You still don't know what game you're playing, only that Akashi is surely winning.

* * *

Another month turns to gray before Akashi regards you as something _human_. He doesn't go out of his way to make you feel like a person but he lets you enter his _personal_ chambers, which according to Midorima is a huge feat. It doesn't feel like an achievement and if you're being honest, it rings like defeat, but you know by now that Akashi wouldn't want you getting the _wrong idea_. You don't know how he's capable of worming his way into your mind, a parasite moving across the secret borders of what's most sacred to you to instill fear—but if you've ever felt such a strong sense of conviction, it's in this simple knowledge.

You turn and face Akashi with a question on your lips but the crooked tilt of his mouth tells you to hold your tongue. Your silence is golden as you play your part in the presence of a scavenger, pressed against the limits of the sea. You've collected ample fragments of data throughout your stay to know when to sink and when to swim—and sometimes the latter just isn't worth the outcome.

The night is slow and you're standing in the light of the moon, but you feel like you're disappearing into the dark. You can't gauge his expression because meeting his gaze only paves the way to trouble, but you've come far enough that you can feel the weight of his appraisal bending your will into obedience.

Akashi begins to undo the buttons on his shirt cuffs, flashing you a brief glimpse of his pale wrists under the crisp fabric. “There are many things you have yet to learn, ____. If you're to call yourself my wife, you will spend as long as it takes to digest the information I feed to you. Consider it a gift, for I'm not one to waste time on those I see unfit. Up until now, you've given me no reason to deem you worthy of my company. If not for our arrangement, I'd find it difficult to remember you at all.”

You set your teeth against the bottom line of your mouth and narrow your eyes, ire becoming the charcoal sketch that lines your long lashes. You sink your nails into your palms until the bite becomes painful and your shoulders pull taut from the tension of your frustration. “I understand the conditions of our agreement, but I'm not dirt you can freely walk upon, _Akashi-san_.”

Akashi chuckles and the eerie sound blossoms in the dark hollow of his throat. He shakes open the material of his sleeves and absentmindedly folds the fabric up to the slight bend of his elbows. The fleeting moment of respite is akin to holding your breath underwater, a strong hand pressed to the wet nape of your neck. You find that your senses are dulled to the wash of dizziness that sways your stability as the pressure holds you there. You swallow thickly, refusing to let the water drag you down as your heart hammers wildly in your heaving chest.

Akashi steps forward and into the wavering line of your sight. He fingers are cold and firm when he takes you by the chin and forces your head upright. “You know better than to use my given name when in my company. You're to call me Sir.” His hold widens as he tightens his grip along the curve of your jaw, his thumb digging into your bottom lip. “Your insolence only proves my point. Try harder.” He lifts his free hand and rests it on your shoulder for what seems like a mere millisecond, and perhaps that's all it takes before your body involuntarily caves to the intensity of his stare. “Kneel for me.”

You emit a pathetic sound as your knees hit the wide ancient floorboards that stretch across the lowest point of his bedroom. You struggle to gain some semblance of clarity but the fog that slips through the cracks in your thoughts clouds every inch of your rationale. You find yourself growing petulant, hating the man that now circles your body as if he has a right to appraise you, and _maybe_ by the bitter scrawl of your name across a piece of paper, he does. Still and all, there's no just reason for him to treat you like one of his loathsome miscreants. In point of fact, he treats his assassins better, shows them the respect that you could arguably say they in no way deserve. It makes you angry, makes you bitter, and it's then that you realize that he's been conditioning you from day one. You don't know if his attempts were by mistake or design, but you have a pretty good idea as to which outshines the other.

“Are you done behaving like a child?” Akashi asks, his voice monotone and dangerous, a caveat that calls for your attention.

You huff indignantly and cast your eyes to an empty space at your right. “I'm asking for a little respect. I don't think that makes me a child.”

Akashi slides his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip hard enough to drag pain along the line your scalp. “You'll gain my respect when I see that you've earned it. Thus far, you've proven nothing to me apart from the fact that you're an impoverished little girl with a knack for doing the wrong thing.”

You swallow the urge to retaliate with a snide remark, reminding yourself to choose your battles wisely. You're in no mood to draw out this affair despite having no understanding of what you're doing here in the first place. However, recent months have demonstrated that nothing good comes from being in Akashi's immediate circle and you don't see why this exchange would prove any different.

“Now, if you're finished stealing my precious time,” –Akashi pauses and lets the spiteful implication hang in the air for an uncomfortable second too long before continuing– “is it safe to assume that you're still chaste? It was of my knowledge that when you sacrificed yourself to me you were a virgin.”

You furrow your brow and blink twice, coppery reticence bathing your tongue like those who have had the ability to speak mercilessly stolen from them. (You had the misfortune of meeting a woman who suffered this fate two weeks ago, boorishly named Philomela.) Akashi seems to think that cutting out the tongues of those who have dishonored him is a fair exchange for the _second chance_ he offers them. Be that as it may, he doesn't administer that act himself (as if it makes the barbaric execution any less inhumane), which is why you have fair reason to believe that's the reason Murasakibara paled before entering the judgment quarters just the other day.

“I'll take that as a sound confession,” Akashi derides. “On that long list of things you have yet to learn, perhaps stealing your innocence will broaden that dull mind of yours.”

“I'm not stupid,” you retort, venom clipping the edges of your teeth.

“Unfortunately that's a conversation we just don't have time for tonight. You're going to be putting that mouth to good use since you seem to have great difficulty keeping it shut.”

Your fury rises to heights you didn't know existed, leaving you trembling with rage and stretched out across an allegorical bed of nails should you bring the thoughts inside your head to sound. You settle on sarcasm because it's blunted compared to the lethal words scraping the edges of your teeth, and even with the knowledge that speaking will only worsen things for you, you can't allow yourself to cower every time Akashi barks. “Is it unfortunate for you or me? Because I have to admit, conversation really isn't your strong suit,” you hiss, each word enunciated through a grate of sharp animus.

Akashi scrapes his nails against your scalp roughly, humming in an unnervingly content way. He yanks your head back and smiles at you, the dig of his mouth far too soft for the intolerance behind his eyes. “It depends on what you decide to take from this.”

You blanch at the vague connotation, the suggestion that your fate lies within your own hands. It's all a lie, a cradled falsehood to keep you pacified because you know that there's little you can do at this juncture. “What do you want me to do?” you ask him, your words straining against the back of your throat and not nearly as convincing as you'd hoped.

Akashi relaxes his grip and nearly tears his fingers free of your tangled strands before making his way across the room. He gingerly picks up a box of wooden matches and drags a match along the striker. A tiny flicker of light comes to life along with several shadows that dance across Akashi's pale face. He lowers the match to an expensive-looking candle, the glass it's nestled in hand-painted and seemingly flawless. Then he turns to look at you as he shakes away the match's flame. “Crawl to me.”

You feel your body stiffen at the casual indifference of his command, limbs set into rigidness so stony you wonder if you've become paralyzed. “You can't be serious,” you whisper.

“How much do you value your father's life?” Akashi speaks the question as if he's not referring to a matter of great importance when in truth, it's a circumstance of life or death. Although, you imagine the blood on his hands has to measure up to a considerable amount—so what reason would he have to care about your father, a man who means less than nothing to him?

You lower your head and take a deep breath and try to chase the skyline coloring your thoughts by means of momentary distraction. You pray for a sense of composure, something to guide you through these lofty times of cavalry. You want to believe that you can still find the tiny cracks of light that exist around you because you know that for you to combat the darkness that is Akashi, you have no choice but to keep digging until you find them.

You lick the salt from your lips and bite down on your bottom lip, the pain the only stimulus that pushes you forward. You bite down until you can taste the familiar tang of blood while your knees follow the trajectory of your hands. It's humiliating but the shame that you're feeling doesn't hold a candle to his frosty baseness. You still can't comprehend how one can be so frigid, especially given the initial terms of your agreement—or should you say _contract_? Everything else would be a lie if you tried to deny the glaringly obvious truth: that from the day you stepped into Akashi's life you had signed your life away.

You find yourself stopping at Akashi's feet, hating every grain of your identity for heeding his command without protest. Howbeit, with your father's life still in jeopardy, you need not stir unpredictable waters. Therefore, there's little you can do in the way of opportunity, and it leaves compliance an angry welt across your skin. You keep your head lowered and lift your hands away from the floor to dig your nails into the tops of your thighs. You can hear the not-so-distant memory of Akashi's voice ring through your ears: _Know your place_. You clench your teeth together until your mouth aches from the pressure and wait.

“I've witnessed far better attempts, but I suppose that will have to do.” Akashi reaches for a crystal chalice and gently sloshes its contents before he presses the glass to his lips and tips the wine down his throat. He returns the sparkling vessel to a sideboard at his right and slowly slides his tongue between the seam of his tinted lips. His gaze is pinned on your folded frame, his eyes blazing with the intensity of a serpent ready to strike. You can feel his stare in the way heat drags up the length your spine, and at that very moment, you know that he has you right where he wants you.

* * *

You shiver when Akashi drags his soft palm over your back, manipulating the alignment of your spine as he forces you over the end of the bed. You press the dig of your elbows into the mattress, skin sliding against expensive sheets boasting resplendent thread-count. The syrupy-brine on your tongue is sharp, cloying to your palate like honey but far less sweet. You curse Akashi for making you swallow his capitulation—albeit not a surprise considering his demeanor—but you condemn yourself for not hating the way he tastes as much as you should.

“What have you learned here tonight?” Akashi asks, his tone guarded by stoicism but betrayed by a glimmer of lust.

“That you're an impossible bastard who has no understanding of what it means to be merciful.” You know that you should feel concerned for the truth that slips past your lips, or fear at the very least, but you can't find anything but satisfaction in the wealth of emotions caged in the walls of your chest.

There's a pregnant pause that prickles along your skin like electricity and spreads through your veins like lightning but the low rustle of humor that follows quickly washes away the feeling. “I'd be lying if I said that I haven't been called worse. I'd say it's a pretty accurate assessment, in fact.”

You lower your shoulders and fight against the tension that binds you but you're too quick to assume a position indicative of relief. Akashi draws back his hand and when he brings it down, palm flat, against your backside it's with the force of a whip. A wounded cry of shock and discomfort bleeds from your throat, overriding the echo of skin against skin that vibrates against the humming in your ears. You collapse against the bed and press your face into the satin duvet clenched in your hands.

“The first step to gaining my respect is to take the time to learn where you stand.” Akashi brings his hand down on your opposite globe and you find yourself foolishly wishing for some kind of consolation for the stinging ache that spreads deep beneath the topmost layers of your skin. You close your eyes and will yourself to hold back the tears that have formed behind your lashes. You bite down on the inside of your cheek for lack of a better thing to do and wait for the pain to ease into something like acceptance.

“You will never be on my level, ____. You are a necessary consort, not my companion.” The rustle of Akashi's clothing sounds spectral against the smooth grate of his tone. You try to prepare yourself for what's to come, but when the soft-weave of fabric brushes over the matrix of your bare skin and Akashi drapes himself over your back, you feel like you've been doused in freezing water. His lips brush against the shell of your ear and you can't help but feel the slant of his mouth when it curves on a smirk. “Thinking that you and I are on equal ground will be your greatest mistake.” He exhales a slow breath that ghosts the chords of tension in your neck and rouses a chill from within the depths of your body.

Akashi pulls himself upright and walks his fingers down the delicate curvature of your spine. The tingling cold that's trickling down your spinal column sinks down to the marrow in your bones. Your fingers are trembling and your heart feels like a paperweight in your chest. Then Akashi's voice, as polished as the brass bedposts, floats through the air and into your ears. “I excel at everything, I am without limit, I am absolute. Therefore, I am always right.”

You emit a rasp of breath that speaks for your contempt and furrow your brows in an expression of disgust. Your mind begins to tick through a long line of records, gears turning over inside your head as seconds count down against the number of times you can contest his flippant statement. You search through the metaphorical docket of moments you spent in his company but it only adds to your umbrage because you can't recall a single occasion when he was wrong.

Suddenly, Akashi stirs your conscience into awareness, his fingers tugging you back to the present moment. The flat of his palm ghosts the inside of your thigh and it takes every fiber of your being to obtain your position. A foreign sound meets your ears but you can't place it until the slick slide of a lubricated digit brushes up against your sex. You nearly choke on the startled cry that catches in the back of your throat as you flinch away from Akashi's touch reflexively. It's cold and wet but what bothers you the most is the fact that your body is already responding to the fleeting ministration—and it's only made worse when Akashi addresses it aloud.

“I expected you to put up more of a fight. Perhaps you're beginning to understand your position after all.”

You slide your cheek against silk and turn your head to the sound of his voice, though it's not enough to meet his gaze. “What would be the point of fighting at this juncture? To add more fuel to the fire? To give you something else to chastise me for?” Your voice sounds shaky and not half as authoritative as you hoped it would. You feel your cheeks warm and suspect that they're flushed with the evidence of your shame, and the whole thing feels like you're doing very little to better your situation.

Akashi slides his fingers between your sensitive folds, up your warming slit, and to the pulsing ache of your clit. Just like before, his touch lingers for only a moment before it vanishes, but it's enough that you can feel your arousal build between your quivering thighs. Akashi rests his free hand on the small of your back in an attempt to hold your position, as needless as it is effortless. Then he says: “If only you had retained that mentality earlier,” leaving the statement open to interpretation but still quite transparent.

You want to tell him to hurry up, to finish what he started so you can pretend like this never happened, but there's too much hesitance sewn into your patchwork heart. However, you don't entirely blame yourself for failing to speak up. Akashi's sadistic temperament hardly exists for show; it runs deep, wraps around his bones and bleeds through the cracks in his soul. So you brace yourself as much as one can and try to muffle a staggering breath as Akashi pushes a single digit into your tight heat.

It's not long before Akashi adds another finger alongside the first, and it takes far less time, much to your chagrin, for him to stretch you open. You don't know what's more to blame, the precise expertise of his ministrations or the unwarranted submission of your body, but you refuse to cave entirely. At least, it's all you can convince yourself of as Akashi drives pleasure so intoxicating into your veins it can only be some kind of drug.

“Lie on your back,” Akashi tells you, and you find that you're following the command before you even have time to formulate the shift of your limbs. You scowl but you can feel how wrong the expression is on your face given the all-consuming anticipation twisting tight in the low of your belly. You take your place on the bed, legs pressing together so tightly you can feel the strain down to your toes.

You can feel the weight of Akashi's appraisal threatening to press you down against the mattress. Your skin grows hot and you're sure that the color staining your cheeks has spread to other regions of your body. Your limbs are shaky and your balance is precarious enough that you don't know how much longer you can keep yourself upright. Then Akashi speaks again and you think, for just a moment, that your heart stops beating. “I want you to touch yourself.”

You open your mouth but no sound comes out of your parted maw, and if not for the seriousness of your current situation, you might find the plight amusing. You blink several times to clear the haze that fogs your vision as you try to swallow the thick lump that's forming in your throat. It's reminiscent of preceding moments: the firm resistance of Akashi's cock dragging friction over your tongue and pressing against the dark of your throat. The salt and the slick stealing the ability to gasp for air as he pushes against the boundaries of your aperture to leave you breathless and bewildered.

“I won't wait all night,” Akashi announces, his timbre low and accusatory. You steal a quick glimpse over your shoulder and note how the candlelight dances across his eyes, sparking heat in one and flint in the other.

The embarrassment you felt earlier pales in comparison to this, but it leaves you wondering how many times Akashi has spoken this same command previously. It's a strange thought, one that should riddle you with anger, but you only find particles of jealousy in its place. It's not something you want to parse for long, so you shake the concept from your thoughts and press your lips together in a thin line. You close your eyes and try to imagine yourself elsewhere but Akashi's pervasive gaze won't allow you to taste freedom. His fixed stare is like a brand on your flesh, a permanent reminder of its everlasting existence.

You somehow manage to convince yourself that by partaking in this salacious act, you won't have to undergo Akashi's scrutiny for longer than what he deems strictly necessary. You consider the fact that this is a lie but it's the only thing that facilitates a response to the redhead's order and impatience. You slip a trembling hand between your thighs and find your cunt already slick and hot to the touch. It only adds further humiliation to the way you're already feeling but you continue to fight the tremor shaking through your fingers in hopes that this will all be over soon. You press your eyes shut tight and slide two fingers, now slick with your arousal, over your outer lips, seeking the pleasure that Akashi teased previously.

“Spread your legs,” Akashi commands, his tone deceptively calm in spite of the urgency underscoring his insistence.

Your eyes come open as the resounding request meets your ears, almost as if you've been trained to react to the mere sound of his voice. It's unsettling, to say the least, but it in no way outshines the evidence that Akashi wants you this way. He wants you to unfold, to break, to be entirely aware of your surroundings so he can take pride in the fact that he's the sole reason behind your undoing. He would never make this so simple, he would never _allow_ you to forget him so easily. If you can take away anything from this harrowing experience it's that there are no silver linings behind his walls of ornamentation, and there was never a light at the end of the long road he paved for you. There was only ever red and gold and the chains that bind you to that _fucking_ authoritative tone.

You take a single breath and hold it down as you struggle to widen your stance. You need to make yourself believe that you're still fighting, that the strain in your thighs isn't pretend rigidity because admitting, even for a moment, that somewhere within the deepest and darkest corners of your mind that you don't hate every second of this feels like suicide.

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth absentmindedly and press your fingers firmly against your clit in an attempt to hasten the stimulation that's lancing through your veins like sun-warm expectation. Your body jerks at the sudden rush of pleasure that surges to the apex of your thighs but the pleasant sensation spiraling out across your skin doesn't last long.

“Look at me.” If his tone is anything to go by, Akashi sounds wholly impartial to what you're doing, and seeing as he's the marionettist pulling your strings, it feels almost offensive. However, when you raise your head to heed his command, your neck taut and aching, Akashi's expression reads differently. Up to this time you've only been able to catch glimpses of his eyes, usually at a distance, and to see them at such an abbreviated length feels like something to be cherished. His face is more rounded than you expect it to be but for as bare-faced as he appears at this distance, he's still as inscrutable as you are open. Still and all, something sparks in the low of your belly that branches through you like lightning that fizzles out somewhere between your knees.

You find it impossible to look away from him, captivated by his impassive gaze and held under the weight of it. You feel something vibrate in your throat but the whimper doesn't meet your ears because your knees are falling open in a gesture of certain urgency. You slide your fingers between your slick folds and spread yourself open before sinking two fingers past the tight resistance of your sex. You emit a strangled sound but it's cut by a hitch of breath when your opposite hand begins to manipulate your clit in earnest. You have no way to prepare for the overwhelming sensations that overtake you or the fever that leaves a fine sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. Your body is shaking and overtaxed, and it's not long before you collapse under Akashi's unbreakable stare in a breathless mess of shuddering limbs.

You have to blink several times to chase away the shadows swamping your vision but when you do, you catch the twitch of Akashi's lips, the curve of his mouth assuming the form of the same trademark smirk that has undoubtedly left innumerable men cowering in fear. But it's not distress that floods through your veins when your spine curves away from the bed. You let your head fall back against a mountain of cool pillows, lips slick with saliva and bitten red, parted in a silent request for the oxygen you've lost. You push the limits of your self-control and further explore the valleys of your sex. Your body is a treasure map, the atoll is known but uncharted, and all you want is to delve into the deepest parts of the unknown. A shiver runs through you like a refreshing stream but it does nothing to relieve the thirst that's turned your saliva to sand. Your heart hammers in your chest like a summer storm, white static pounding like rain in your ears. You furl your toes against the duvet and tip your head back as far as your neck will allow. You shudder violently and whimper a string of incoherent words that wash away the litany that plays through your mind like redemption.

Akashi roves his gaze over your body, stopping at the indecent display between your thighs for only a second before looking back up at your face. “Come for me,” he insists, sovereignty dripping from his lips.

Your body falls prey to the heat exhausting your limbs as you slip into the arms of the darkness controlling your fever. You lose sight of whatever it was you had named expectation and fade into listless satisfaction. Rapture pulses through you like the first strains of a siren song, catching on the staccato strings of your heart. Your mind is in a faraway place and you don't know how long it's going to take to put the pieces o your conscience back together, but for what feels like the first time in a long time, you're not entirely sure you want to.

You sink into the mattress, limbs leaden and body sated, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath you take. You can hear the quiet shuffle of Akashi's feet as he returns to his post by the door. You muster up what little strength you have left and elevate yourself against the stack of pillows just enough to catch the look of gratification on his face.

“I'll be honest, this isn't what I expected from you. I suppose this means that I'll have to reconsider your punishment the next time you fumble for the upper hand.” He flashes you what appears to be a genuine smile but somehow, it's the most intimidating expression you've seen him wear thus far. Then he chuckles and the sound is like frost on the coldest winter day. “You don't know the first thing about being dominant. You're just like all the rest, and if my long history of servants is anything to go by, when we meet again, you _will_ want me.”

You don't waste time on a futile response as Akashi walks through the door and closes it behind him with an audible click. It's not for acceptance or passivity but for the fact that you've grown as tired of feeding into his psychological manipulation as you have watching him walk away. What's more is that you know, deep down, that he's not completely wrong. It's not a truth you're ready to accept but you refuse to be just another forgotten mark on his timeline of courtesans.

You exhale a long sigh and sink deeper into the pillows at your back. You stare up at the ceiling, too lost in thought to chase away the goose-flesh prickling your skin—and when you finally close your eyes, you've memorized the difference between submission and enslavement. You fold your hands beneath your head and smile softly, suddenly confident that, though you may not be in control, your efforts will prevail in the end.

* * *

To this day, you still can't find evidence of single thing Akashi's lost but it doesn't matter in the way it used to because you still haven't been forgotten. You smile at other consorts in the halls, knowing that they despise you for safeguarding Akashi's interest. Things are far from perfect but you've learned how to accept the absolute directness of Akashi's nature, and that compliance is what's kept you favorable in the eyes of Tokyo's most revered—and most feared—Yakuza boss.

It might not be worth much to some, but to you, it makes his discipline taste a little less sour.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
